


Broken Bough

by bombcollar



Category: Dark Souls III
Genre: Bad Parenting, Gen, Good Brothering Though, Implications of violence, Mild Gore, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 08:22:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9811124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bombcollar/pseuds/bombcollar
Summary: The linking of the First Flame does not go as planned, and there are some things Lorian is no longer willing to put up with.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Lorian is a good big brother.

_“I’m scared, Lorian.”_

_“I know.”_

_He watches his brother’s frail fingers outstretched, paper pale, almost luminous in the darkness of the shrine, trembling. He seems so small, seated in the immese stone chair, designed for someone anticipated to be so much larger and grander._

_“What if it hurts?”_

_Souls committed to the Flame never truly died. That’s what the two of them had been taught. They stayed, nourishing it for the entirety of the new age. An eternity of burning._

_What if it never_ stops _hurting? is the unspoken question. He can hear it in Lothric’s voice. Embers begin to rise from the bonfire below, floating upwards. There seems to be no air in the vast room. Lothric’s words have dug into him, the weight of the doubt behind them, doubt they have both been feeling for a long time, though the fear of what would happen if they did not carry through had pushed them forward._

_Lorian reaches out, closing his hand around Lothric’s tiny wrist and folding his arm around his brother, just as the embers come almost near enough to touch. They instantly fade, turning to ash, as the fire below flares violently, roaring upwards, a furious, starving thing that had been denied a meal. The darkness closes in around them like a trap._

* * *

The castle dining hall is full, milling with various members of the extend family, knights and captains, sorcerers, servants, visitors who’d come for the celebration. The thick stone walls do not block out the cries of fear and pain coming from the settlement below, nor the crackle of fire as the gardens burn. Wine flows liberally, people talk too loudly and nobody looks the King in the eye. He does not seem well, his skin reddened, peeling, one pupil dilated to an inky black orb. He smiles too, but it is a rictus. The Queen is nowhere to be seen.

Lorian had woken in terrible pain but unable to cry out, unable to rise to his feet, feeling as if he had been thrown from the back of his dragon. The healers assured him that there was no major damage, that it must have been something to do with the ritual, that his brother had been spared as well but was unresponsive. Lorian had dragged himself to Lothric immediately after, gathered his brother in his arms and blacked out again. 

Still, their father insisted they both be present. Lorian had struggled into his ceremonial armor and hauled himself, his sword and his brother to the hall. The hush that had fallen over the room when he’d shown up was as heavy as the darkness of the shrine had been, the palpable weight of disappointment. 

Though the table is lavishly laid out, the food fresh and steaming, nobody has touched it. Lothric sits in his chair with his head bowed. Since he had reassured his brother that he could still speak, he hadn’t said a word. Lorian sits close beside him, holding his hand, rubbing a thumb across his bony knuckles reassuringly. They would get through this. They always had.

“What is everybody doing?” Oceiros suddenly cries out, grabbing a wine glass and tapping his fork against it erratically. Every head in the room turns to face him, except for Lothric’s. “Please, enjoy the food! You’ve all done a splendid, splendid job, all of you have worked so hard for the sake of our family, and we appreciate all that you’ve done. But we have one person to thank in particular…”

He slams his hands and the glass on the table across from Lorian, shattering it and bloodying his palms. Lorian flinches, more out of surprise than fear, because something more powerful had risen up and taken the place of that emotion. 

_“My son,”_ Oceiros hisses, teeth clenched. Several have fallen out, Lorian is just noticing now. “My _firstborn_ , my own _flesh and blood_ , has _ruined_ it. You’ve ruined _everything_ , everything we’ve worked for, every moment spent toiling for the sake of our kingdom’s welfare for the past eighteen years! It’s all _gone_!” He clenches his fists. Blood oozes out from between his fingers, soaking into the red tablecloth and turning it black. “You useless, crippled _coward_!” he screams, spit flecking his peeling lips. “Both of you! We made you for _one purpose_ , and you couldn’t even _die_ correctly!”

Lorian shoves the table suddenly, sending it and its contents crashing to the floor as he lunges at his father, slamming his flame-imbued sword into the ground. It misses Oceiros by inches, setting the carpet alight. The king stumbles back, all his fury momentarily replaced by wide-eyed shock. Several people in the crowd scream, beginning to back up as Lorian gets to his knees, breathing heavily. 

What did he have to lose, anyway. He no longer had the respect of his father, the prospect of ruling. The only thing he had left was the one person in the world he cared about protecting. They had both suffered enough, Lothric immeasurably, and he was going to make sure that nobody else hurt either of them ever again. 

He lowers himself down and turns to look at his brother, extending an arm to his fellow prince. Wordlessly, understanding, Lothric takes it, using it as leverage to climb up upon his brother’s back so he would be out of the way. If Lorian could have spoken, he’d have told Lothric to close his eyes, but he knew Lothric would’ve refused. He would have wanted to see what would happen next. He would have wanted to see these people _burn_ , just the way they wanted him to.

The screams and crashing of steel on stone and human bodies does not cease until the morning.


End file.
